The Little Things
by BitOfAHermit
Summary: Jack Harkness returns to Cardiff after the Year That Never Way to find that things are different. Little Things. But then, the little things are the ones that give you away. STORY REWRITTEN AND UPDATED.
1. Chapter 1

Jack's knock seemed hollow in the silence of the hall.

'It's open'. Was the quiet reply from behind the door.

Jack took a deep breath and pushed open the door to reveal Ianto's apartment. He'd never been so apprehensive about entering before. But then, he'd never done what he was about to do before. Things like that tended to make Jack nervous. Mainly because there weren't an awful lot of things he _hadn't_ done at least once in his lifetime. And this was definitely one of those situations.

The apartment looked the same as before he'd left, everything neat and tidy, organised down to the alphabetically arranged paperbacks on the bookcase beside the door.

It sounded the same, a slight whirring coming from the old heating system, which on the rare occasion ceased to work entirely. It smelt the same, like Ianto: coffee with the slightest hint of cinnamon, vanilla and cotton.

But it felt wrong. Little things. Things you wouldn't normally notice in a room when first you entered. Ianto's almost obsessive-compulsive affinity with cleanliness seemed to have dissipated somewhat during the time he'd been away: a layer of dust blanketed the shelves, tables and the floor. Coffee mugs had been left standing on the kitchen counter, something that _never_ happened in Ianto's private sanctuary.

An air of abandonment and emptiness seemed to enclose the once warm, welcoming room, as though nobody had been living there much for some time.

Jack noticed for the first time he was the only one in the room.

'Ianto?' He called, making the name a question.

'In here.' Came a subdued answer from the closet-sized bedroom.

The bedroom was dark. Curtains stood closed against the harsh glare of the streetlamps outside. Ianto lay on the bed, fully clothed, having only removed his suit jacket and shoes, the faint glow from the window silhouetting his slight figure. Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.

Jack ran his fingers through his ragged hair; he hadn't had time to get a proper cut. Martha had done the best she could with a pair of paper scissors, just so he could see again without a mop of hair swamping his eyes, but he hadn't had time to assess the results in a mirror yet.

Ianto's face was completely devoid of emotion in the faint light. Jack wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not. _Surely he wouldn't have left the door open if he hadn't wanted you to come in._ Jack thought to himself. Or maybe he was just being polite. _Or maybe he just didn't want the neighbours to hear._

He wasn't sure which would be worse: Ianto welcoming him back with forgiving arms, or Jack being greeted with a cold silence or harsh words. Part of him wanted Ianto to scream at him. Tell Jack it was all his fault, and slam the door in his face. But the other part of him was just so relieved to see Ianto.

_He's alive_. Jack thought to himself. _That's all that matters. He can scream at you, tell you he hates you. But he's still alive. That's all that matters._

Neither has spoken to each other much today in the hub. A polite thankyou, when Ianto had brought Jack coffee, along with some paperwork that required his attention. A sentence here and there, but only the minimum conversation that was required to deal with the task at hand. They had been ignoring each other all day. Pretending nothing was wrong. The blank polite faces of co-workers hiding the sea of emotions each were feeling. But now they were alone. And Jack was scared.

'Are you going to say anything, or just stand there, sir?' The first words spoken in the long minutes Jack had been standing there.

'I thought we'd gotten past all that formal shit', was Jack's reply, trying to ease the tension thick in the air between them.

'We had'. Ianto's voice was quiet in the dim twilight, as though he didn't trust himself to speak.

'What happened?' The words leaving Jack's mouth before he had a chance to swallow them back down again.

'Three months. Three months happened, Jack. Three months with you gone'.

Jack didn't know how to reply to that.

'You were just gone, Jack. No goodbyes, no phone calls.' Jack heard a sigh in the dark. 'God, would it have killed you to send a single bloody postcard?'

'Would it have helped if I had?'

'I don't know, Jack. Might have. Was is so good out there, away from all of us, that you couldn't even check in once?'

Jack swallowed. 'Time sought of got away from me. I'm sorry'.

'You're sorry? Three months gone without a trace. And you're sorry, Jack?'

Jack winced, but remained silent.

'I think we're a bit past that now'. Ianto was kneeling on the bed now, anger animating his face. 'Anything could have happened to you and we wouldn't have known. Wouldn't have known what to do, where to look for you if something had gone wrong. And you're sorry? Thank God the rift has been quiet, or we'd all be knee deep in I don't know what by now.'

The anger in Ianto's voice made his accent thick, letters rolling over each other in his rush to get the words out.

'God, Jack. You could have died, and we wouldn't have known'.

'I did'.

Silence filled the small room again. Ianto slumped back down on the bed, realising what he had said.

'And what else did you do? Did you find your Doctor? Can he fix you?'

'The fact that I'm here, and not still dead should give you the answer to that'.

Jack's voice was quiet, emotion seeping through the words. Not anger. He just felt so tired. His legs suddenly feeling weak, he slid to the floor, leaning against the side of the bed. He put his face into his hands.

'I found him. I found him. And no, he can't fix me.' Jack sighed. 'He doesn't know what happened to me, why I'm the way I am. Only that I'm _wrong_, and he can't do anything about it, and he can't fix it'.

He felt the bed behind him move. To his surprise, Jack felt Ianto slide to the floor beside him, wrapping an arm around Jack's shoulders.

'You're not wrong, Jack. Just different'.

Jack laughed weakly, tentatively leaning his head into Ianto's warm shoulder.

'Maybe I'm not. But I'm definitely not right'.

Jack felt Ianto's hands stroking his head. Slow. Soothing. Nothing sexual, nothing implied. Just comfort. He turned and leant his upper body against Ianto's, the false impression of strength, of bravery he'd been holding up for the last twelve hours slipping away. Leaving him tired, and weak. But mostly just tired.

He wrapped his arms around Ianto's slim waist. Leaning his face into his chest, inhaling the smell of his shirt. The smell of clean cotton, with the slight undertone of soap and masculinity. Of purely Ianto. It smelt like home.

Ianto reached down, catching Jack's face in between his large hands, forcing him to look up, to meet his eyes. Jack smiled weakly.

'This wasn't the reception I was expecting'.

Ianto didn't reply rubbing his fingers over Jack's cheek. Jack shivered slightly. Moving out of Ianto's hands, he wrapped himself around the other man's chest again.

'Aren't you going to tell me where you were?' Ianto felt Jack grip onto him tighter. As though Ianto was going to get up and leave. As though he was going to disappear.

'What happened to you, Jack?' Ianto whispered against Jack's hair.

Jack was silent for so long that Ianto wasn't sure he had heard him speak. What happened next shocked Ianto more than any answer could have.

He felt Jack's shoulders shudder. Noises Ianto could only describe as sobs, seemed to resonate through Jack's entire body, leaving him shaking. Jack Harkness was crying.

Ianto half-pulled the almost hysterical man up from the floor onto the bed, where he wrapped his arms around him, rocking the two of them back and forth, back and forth. He whispered small sounds into Jack's ear, soothing him, trying to ease the pain he was obviously in: 'Shhhh, Jack, don't cry, it's okay. I'm here, you're okay, don't cry, Jack'.

After Jack's sobs gradually subsided into whimpers, Ianto laid them both back against the pillows, pulling a blanket from the end of the bed over the two of them.

They lay there in silence for what seemed to be hours, just listening to each other's breathing. Ianto didn't know what to say. Didn't know what to do. Jack was the one to break through the quiet, to speak first.

'You were dead Ianto. And I killed you'.


	2. Chapter 2

_The Little Things: Chapter 2_

_Ianto Jones. Jack Harkness. Other characters (including maybe a little bit of Ten) when I get around to writing the next chapter. (I forgot to mention, my time line is a bit off. John Hart doesn't come back till later in the season. So there's nothing happening there.)_

_Summary: Captain Jack Harkness returns to Cardiff after having been away for three months (-ish) in The Year That Never Was. Things seem different. Nothing much, just little things, things you wouldn't notice upon first entry into a room. But Jack notices. Basically Jack's explanation of his time away between S1 and S2._

_Rating: T overall to be safe. Mainly for character death and angst, angst and more angst._

_Disclaimer: I don't own Ianto or Jack (or anything Torchwood or Doctor Who related for that matter, sigh). But I have endless respect for Russell T Davies, who has created characters so fun to play with (cough, what? We were all thinking it)._

_Hope you enjoy._

_twtwtwtw_

'You were dead Ianto. You were dead, and I killed you'.

Ianto didn't say anything. Didn't ask what Jack meant. He knew that Jack would tell him if he wanted Ianto to know.

Jack's breath left him with a shudder. He ran a hand over his eyes. He didn't know what to say. Where to start. So he lapsed into silence again.

He felt Ianto's hand reach out and catch one of Jack's in a callused palm. They lay together like that for some time, just holding hands in the darkness. Then Jack spoke.

'Find anything in Nepal?'

Ianto didn't have a clue how Jack knew about team's misadventures in the Himalayas. He just did. When Ianto didn't reply, Jack continued.

'Remember when I told you about my Doctor? How I said he was the only one. Or, at least how I thought he was the only one. He did too. But there was another'.

'Someone else like him?' Ianto's voice is soft.

'No. Not like him. Nothing like my Doctor. But the same, yes'.

_twtwtwtw_

The day had started fairly well. All things considered.

He had woken up to the feeling of hard concrete against his face. He had spelt pretty well. The best sleep he'd had in, oh, maybe two weeks. Then again, it _had_ been the first sleep he'd had in two weeks, so there wasn't really any competition. And he'd dreamt of Ianto. Dreamt he was back in the Hub. Back at Torchwood. Back in Ianto's arms, his subconscious almost letting him forget it was only a dream.

It had been a good one too. He'd almost been enjoying himself.

Until one of his guards had thrown a bucket of cold water over him. Washing away any sensory memory of Ianto hands on the back of his neck, his lips, soothing, and warm.

He'd sat up spluttering, shackles rattling, water running into his eyes from his now saturated hair. Swearing at the man standing over him.

Which hadn't been his smartest idea of the week. Ten minutes later, lips split and bleeding, ribs throbbing from his latest beating, Jack had been dragged from the Valliant's hull, through the ship's long corridors, into the conference room.

Minutes later, the Master had swept into his domain. Falling leisurely into one of the rotating chairs around the long table that dominated the centre of the room.

'Jack?' The man had called.

Jack had gritted his teeth. 'Yes, Master?' He'd replied, the words bitter in his mouth.

'You know that little team of yours? The one you left?' Jack had glared at him through the thick wall of hair obscuring his eyes. He didn't say anything. It was a rhetorical question anyway.

'The ones I sent off to hunt Molecular Trans-Dimensional Conductors in the Nepalese Himalayas? Molecular Trans-Dimensional Conductors.' The Master sniggered like a small child. 'Really, Jack, and these are the people protecting the human race? Not the smartest boys and girls are they?'

He'd laughed at his own joke. 'Anyway. You remember them don't you, Jack?'

When Jack hadn't answered, one of the guards standing behinds him had hit him over the back of the head with the butt of his rifle. The force of it had caused Jack to topple over, unable to stop himself from crashing into the floor with his hands cuffed behind his back.

'You don't have to do that'. The small voice came from the tattered lean-to set against the far wall of the room.

Jack looked up from the floor into the withered face that peered from inside the small tent, giving the Doctor a bitter smile.

'Yeah, but he does it anyway'.

Jack's words earned him another sharp blow, adding yet another bruise to the skin in his back. He had quite a collection from his previous beating. Not that they lasted very long: in a few hours his skin wouldn't show any sign of the fact he was his Master's whipping boy.

The Master ignored their exchange. Coming out of his chair to stand looking out the windows that made up one wall of the room.

'Isn't it beautiful, Jack?' He turned back to the man on the floor, pulling him over to the windows by his chains. 'Just look at it. All those people. Waking up in the dawn of a new age. All that industry. All that wealth. You love the Earth so much, Jack. I'm giving it a place amongst the stars.'

Jack remained silent. The Master seemed to remember something.

'Where was I? Oh, yes. Your little team. Torchwood. Always ready. Always prepared. The ultimate . . . what do you call them in this century? Boy Scouts?'.

The Master looked down at Jack. 'When they got to the mountains they found something. Or maybe, I should say that something found them'.

Jack heard heavy footstep coming down the corridor. He froze. _No_. He thought. He wouldn't believe it, he couldn't. They were supposed to be safe. Martha had promised they would be safe.

With the Master smiling down at him, Jack turned on his knees to face the door.

Three Toglifane lead the procession, flying through the room to hover above the Master's head. 'We bring the prisoners of the Mister Master', they chorused as one, metallic voices chilling Jacks heart.

Following the spheres came two burly guards, semi-automatics hung over their shoulders, dragging a struggling figure with a hood over its head between them. Three more pairs of guards followed, each pair escorting a prisoner into the room.

'Welcome, welcome, dear friends!' The Master's voice was overly cheery in the fluorescent lights of the conference room.

The guards came to a halt; the four figures slumped to the grounds, released by their captures. Jack couldn't breath. Could believe his eyes. Didn't want to believe it. They couldn't be here: Martha had promised.

Two of the guards dragged Jack to his feet, pulling him a few metres in the direction of where the prisoners lay huddled on the floor, blinded by their hoods.

'So, children', the Master grinned. 'Here we are. All together again. Isn't that nice, Jack?'

At the sound of his name, one of the figures on the floor struggled, trying to call out. Only to be shoved back to the ground by one of the guards, muffled cries silenced by a callous blow. Apparently they were gagged too.

The Master sauntered over to his captives. 'Come, Jack. Don't be rude. Come greet our guests'. The guard behind Jack gave him a harsh push.

He took the hint.

Stumbling over to where the Master stood, directly in front of the hooded prisoners, Jack's heart ached. So close, he could have reached out to touch them. That is, if his hands hadn't been chained behind his back.

Moving behind the closest of the figures, the Master seized the hood of his captive, jerking it off in one swift movement.

Tosh's face was bruised; a small cut bleeding on her temple. Dark circles marred the normally smooth skin beneath her eyes. She blinked, eyes unaccustomed to the severe lights. Then her eyes came into focus. She stared at Jack, incredulous. Barely recognizing the filthy emaciated man in front of her. But it was unquestionably Jack.

Jack heard her sob, the sound distorted by the rough material in her mouth.

The Master had moved to the next figure: it was Owen, face perhaps even more battered than Tosh's. His lips and eyebrows split. Worse was the deep gash running down the right side of his face, blood loss making the freckles on his face stand out dark against the white of his cheeks. His eyes were wide, peering through the once cropped hair hanging into his eyes.

God. How long had he had them? Had they been on the Valliant with him this entire time? It was just like the Master. Keeping the single thing he had hoped would be saved, captive, just down the corridor from him. All this time.

Gwen was the third. Her eyes wide and fearful. A faint bruise across her cheekbone. But thankfully otherwise unscathed. She whimpered when she saw him. Struggling against her bonds. Trying to close the scant space between them, a rough hand pulling her back.

The Time Lord then moved behind the last figure, revealing the face that had been haunting Jack for the last he-didn't-know-how-many months. Ianto's face was pale. Paler than his normal almost pallid skin tone.

The days seemed etched onto his skin, nearly black semi-circles giving his eyes a sunken appearance, cheekbones harsh against the gaunt features of his face. He looked older, a once youthful appearance now that of a man made old by the world. A boy forced to grow up, loosing the last of his childhood to the cruel intentions of a madman.

Jack couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. He could only stare at Ianto's face, wishing he could reach out, take the years from that face. Remove any trace of the look he found in the back of Ianto's eyes. The fear. The pain. The knowledge that the world wasn't as wonderful as you once believed it to be; that monsters weren't only things in fairytales told to scare youngsters.

Jack could hardly bare to look into Ianto's face, knowing that _he_ was the reason for it's broken glory.

The Master's cold eyes lit up, seeing the emotions play across Jack face.

He ran a long finger down the side of Ianto's face. The young man flinched away from the contact. Trying to shrink down into the ground.

'This one's given us the most trouble of the lot', at this remark the prisoner seemed to cower lower against the floor, as though trying to make himself invisable, a terrified look in the back of his eyes.

'Strange really. Wasn't he just your tea boy?' The man laughed cruelly, continuing. 'Funny how things turn out, isn't it, Jacky-boy?'

Jack glared at the Master, who stood looking down at him. He hated him. He hated that man with every fiber of his being. His entire life, he'd never thought he'd feel like this about another living, breathing creature. But here he was. And he hated the Master.

_twtwtwtw_

_Well, wasn't that cheery everyone? Sorry the tense keeps changing. Flashbacks tend to do that to me._

_I love writing insane people. Fun fun fun. John Simm is truly talented to play someone so purely evil._

_New chapter up as soon as I can write it. _

_Reviews greatly appreciated._

_It gets a lot darker from here on in. Hence the T rating. If you don't like, don't read._

_Thanks heaps_.


	3. Chapter 3

_The Little Things: Chapter 3_

_Ianto Jones. Jack Harkness. Other characters (including maybe a little bit of Ten) when I get around to writing the next chapter. (I forgot to mention, my time line is a bit off. John Hart doesn't come back till later in the season. So there's nothing happening there.)_

_Summary: Captain Jack Harkness returns to Cardiff after having been away for three months (-ish) in The Year That Never Was. _

_Basically Jack's explanation of his time away between S1 and S2._

_Rating: T overall to be safe._

_WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Ianto or Jack, Torchwood, the Master, the Doctor, Martha Jones, The Jones Family. Or any other character in this story for that matter. Sigh. Dreams die so hard._

_Hope you enjoy._

_twtwtwtw_

Jack glared at the Master, who stood looking down at him. He hated him. He hated that man with every fiber of his being. His entire life, he'd never thought he'd feel like this about another living, breathing creature. But here he was. And he hated the Master.

So, when the man leaned down to stare into Jack's face, eyes flashing with mirth, Jack head butted him. Twice. Just for good measure. Forehead contacting the Master's nose with a satisfying _crunch_.

His second no-quite-so-smart idea of the day.

The Master shrieked, blood running from his now broken nose in two thick streams, one hand against his forehead, the other trying to stem the flow of liquid from his shattered nose.

All things considered, when Jack looked back on that moment, it had definitely been worth it.

The guards, recovering from their initial shock of hearing their leader scream like a girl, had seized Jack, pulling him to his feet, hands rough.

The Master, having grabbed a handful of tissues from somewhere, turned to Jack, eyes crazed with anger.

'Son of a bitch!' he'd shrieked, striking Jack across his face.

Jack felt the healing cuts on his lips re-open. He felt the copper taste of blood in his mouth. Bursts of light behind the back of his eyelids momentarily blinding him. _God._ He thought. _Man's got quite the right hook._

Having release the brunt of his physical anger on the helpless Jack, the Master calmed down marginally. Cold eyes calculating. Jack looked into those eyes, and suddenly wished for the Master's rage.

Rather than the look in his steel-gray eyes, promising pain. Pain on Jack's behalf.

Jack had thought that the Master would just kill him. That was what normally happened when Jack succeeded in pissing him off. Not that Jack didn't usually revel in the fact he'd caused such a reaction in the Time Lord.

Such things were becoming a hobby of sorts. Something to talk to Tish about in the few minutes they were alone. He enjoyed seeing the satisfaction in Martha's mother's eyes when Jack forced the Master into one of his tantrums. He reveled in sharing a comradely glance with the Doctor, though both were normally subjected to the receiving end of the Master's 'affections'.

At least, usually. But not today. The look the Master's eyes held today chilled him to the bone.

His eyes never leaving Jack's, the Master motioned to one of the guards. When the man walked over, the Master motioned for the standard issue Taser all of the guards carried.

Pulling his laser screwdriver from the pocket of the tailored suit coat he wore, the Master increased the Taser's voltage to ten thousand.

Jack closed his eyes. Knowing what was coming.

He felt the cold bite of metal against the back of his neck. His body contorted, spasming as he felt every one of those ten thousand volts coursing through his body. A scream ripped from his throat.

That was the first time Jack died that day.

But certainly not the last.


End file.
